


3AM

by Antarc



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy being gross, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Truth or Dare, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26217625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antarc/pseuds/Antarc
Summary: It’s a stupid, drunken bet. A mix of Billy playing Truth Or Dare while Steve passes through the same room at 1AM on his way to get another drink and Billy’s insufferable stubbornness.“I dare you to hold hands with Steve Harrington for the next two hours,” Cody Summers, quarterback by day, douchebag by night, yells just as Steve is about to enter the kitchen.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 8
Kudos: 258





	3AM

It’s a stupid, drunken bet. A mix of Billy playing Truth Or Dare while Steve passes through the same room at 1AM on his way to get another drink and Billy’s insufferable stubbornness. 

“I dare you to hold hands with Steve Harrington for the next two hours,” Cody Summers, quarterback by day, douchebag by night, yells just as Steve is about to enter the kitchen. He turns on reflex when he hears his name, to what looks like an entire room of Hawkins High’s most popular members of the current senior class staring back at him. Staring at Billy Hargrove, who looks flushed with alcohol and his typical brand of ‘ready to have an aggressively good time’. His dark blue shirt is unbuttoned so far, you can probably see his navel if you look down.

Steve shouldn’t have come. Nowadays he’s only barely high enough on the social totem pole to not get thrown out of parties, courtesy of the two joints he brought to share. Most people here he can have smalltalk with, but getting drunk and high on his own without a real group of friends anymore just. Isn’t fun. 

Before the meaning of the dare properly registers, Cody smugly adds “Oh, are you too chicken shit to pull it off?” and suddenly Billy jumps up from his place in the loose circle of people on the floor. 

“Hell no! As if I’d lose a dare because of _Harrington_ ,” he spits back as he zeroes in on Steve, still frozen in the kitchen entrance. 

And of course Cody just has to open his big, fat mouth again. “Bet you can’t make it till 3AM!” 

Steve watches wide-eyed as Billy gets closer and closer, a familiar mean smile on his face now that he’s almost in Steve’s space. Just before he can grab for his hand, Steve yanks his arm away and glares at him.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” he hisses. This can’t be happening. This is the kind of humiliating nightmare scenario Tommy H. would have put a freshman through, back when they were still friends. Using Steve to put Billy through an annoying bet- not because Billy is a loser, but because forcing him to be around Steve is now considered embarrassing. He can feel heat rising to his cheeks.

“Winning a dare of course,” Billy says meanly, tries to bully his way into Steve’s space while Steve continues to evade his attempts at grabbing for him. “Just hold still and go along with it.” Distantly, he hears laughter from the group of people watching them. Shame rises in him, hot and sour in his throat like he’s gonna choke on it. Anger is quick to follow.

“Uh, no? I don’t fucking think so.” And with that, Steve turns, lets Billy chase him around the kitchen island overflowing with punch and bottles and then attempts to flee to the front door. With Billy cursing behind him and his eyes focused on the entrance, he sadly fails to realize that Cody no longer is on the other end of the room with the group. He feels Cody’s body slam into him, all two hundred pounds of pure muscle and almost wipes out before he’s grabbed around the waist, a shocked yell on his lips.

“Not so fast, Harrington!” Cody laughs in his ear. “You gotta give Hargrove at least a chance to win.”

He almost physically throws Steve into Billy and to the cheers of their audience Steve somehow ends up in a grapple that’s halfway to a wrestling match on the floor, pinned by Billy’s own not inconsiderable muscle mass. He’s properly flushed by the time Billy’s left hand is clasped in a vise-like grip around his right. His hair is probably a complete mess, heart beating in his throat. Billy’s curls look decidedly more messy than before, its sight giving Steve at least some satisfaction, considering the absolute mess he’s now in. He tries very, very hard to ignore the spark of excitement he feels when Billy presses him into the floor for a moment longer, before he easily tugs Steve up with him.

‘This is hell’, he thinks. ‘I’m in hell and Billy Hargrove is going to kill me.’

Billy beams at the rest of the room and completely ignores Steve’s presence right next to him, save for the place where he’s gripping his hand. Tugs Steve back to the group and onto the floor, where someone is passing around a whiskey bottle. It’s mostly empty, maybe four shots worth of liquor left and just as Steve settles down, still rankled by the involuntary handholding, one of the girls- Kitty? Katy?- dares him to finish it off. 

It’s stupid. This is what Steve came here for. Well, not exactly being with these people, but this scenario with people he actually likes. Except no one here is his friend. The people watching him, waiting for him to entertain them, are just as pathetically obsessed with popularity, with getting entertainment out of making a fool out of themselves and others as Steve used to be.

He still accepts the bottle with his free left hand. Feels the heat of Billy’s body against his side as he leans his head back and chugs to cheers, alcohol going down smooth and warm. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Billy watching him, gaze fixed on where Steve’s lips are wrapped around the bottle. Wandering down to where his throat is exposed. Huh.

At least it doesn’t take long for Billy to get bored. “Come on,” he grunts at Steve when people start discussing whether they should play Spin The Bottle with the one Steve just emptied. “I need to piss.”

Steve is immediately, embarrassingly flushed. “What? No, no, no, you’re not gonna make me join you while you pee,” he protests through Billy tugging him up and towards the upstairs bathroom. It’s a losing battle, the added alcohol is sloshing warm in his belly and already making him loose-limbed and unsteady on his feet. 

“Are you stupid? I already told you, I’m not gonna lose a bet because of you. Get over it, princess.” Billy rips open the door to what looks like the main bathroom. The gaudy brown-orange tile looks like it hasn’t been upgraded in a decade and both Steve and Billy wince at the color at the same time.

Billy flips up the toilet seat, one-handedly opens his fly- makes Steve turn his head away so fast he almost gives himself whiplash when he realizes that of course Billy is going commando- and starts to piss with a relieved sigh. All while still holding hands. Steve tries to ignore the noise, tries to focus on the godawful orange floral wallpaper on the ceiling. Billy’s hand is a bit rough, has familiar callouses from playing basketball. Steve’s own have faded since graduating. 

There’s something almost nice about the contact. Steve doesn’t have that many people in his life he gets to casually touch anymore. He’ll ruffle Dustin’s hair when he picks him up to drive him around for school or to the arcade. He gets into slapfights with Robin when they share a weekend shift. There’s the handful of times a month when his mom is in the house at the same time Steve goes to bed and gives him a short kiss on the forehead, never failing at making him feel a little wistful at the gesture.

Billy’s hand isn’t as small as a girl’s. It’s unmistakably a guy’s hand. He’s got thick fingers with cool metal rings on them, stark contrast to the warmth of his palm. When he stands next to Steve, they’re so close in height it almost feels like he can tower over him just with his broad shoulders and overwhelming ego. It’s distracting.

With a light shove, Billy startles Steve into the direction of the door, pants already done up again. “Aren’t you gonna wash your hands, man?” Steve protests, slightly grossed out by the thought.

“Jesus, don’t get your panties in a twist,” is all Billy grumbles as he opens the door. “Someone said you brought weed.” It’s said like a statement. Probably meant as a question. Steve stays silent, still annoyed at himself for somehow liking being called a princess. He really shouldn’t have had that whiskey.

A hand appears in front of his face, snaps fingers so loudly he startles at the noise. “Earth to Harrington.” Billy’s face comes into view. “If I gotta spend the next couple hours with you, I wanna do it high.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve frowns, sighs, pats down his sweater (dark green, soft, brings out the highlights he got refreshed recently) with both his free hand and the one still holding Billy’s until he reaches his left jeans pocket and drags out his second joint and a lighter. hands both to Billy. “Let’s go to the back at least. I don’t wanna be part of the trainwreck that Spin the Bottle game is gonna turn into.” From downstairs, there’s the distinct noise of outraged yelling. Clearly, someone’s already agreed to kiss someone they shouldn’t have in front of their partner. Steve is getting too old for this drama.

Billy still drags him through the living room, waggles their clasped hands towards Cody, who falls over laughing when he realizes where Billy made Steve go with him and then through a sliding door onto the back deck. It’s October, almost a year after Billy beat Steve up. The summer and the nightmare of Starcourt Mall are finally starting to fade into memory for Steve, even if he’s still drinking and smoking way too much to cope with the nightmares sometimes. 

He’s almost jealous of Billy, for getting to miss the entire thing, because he got to go back to Cali for summer vacation. Through the grapevine (Max) he’s heard that Billy’s mom sent flight tickets to him as an 18th birthday present in May and his dad couldn’t do anything to stop him from going. It’s a mystery why he would return for his final year of high school, but apparently he’s been a lot better to Max. There was one call to the police at the end of summer that even Steve’s parents talked about, when Billy apparently broke his father’s nose and the neighbors got worried about the shouting. Curiously, no charges were pressed. 

And now here Steve is, shivering a bit next to Billy in cool autumn air, both the same as last year and also different, passing a joint back and forth between them. 

“Every fucking house in this city has to border on forest,” he complains around the next hit he takes. He glares towards the back of the garden, where the light coming from the house no longer reaches and there’s just dark trees and memories of monsters lurking in the shadows in between. He hands Billy the joint again. Enjoys the quick brush of fingers. “What was California like?”

Out of the spotlight of the crowd, Billy’s expression is a lot less mean. A lot more inscrutable, as he takes a drag and watches Steve. Holds the smoke in his lungs and then lets it out slowly, leaning closer so it envelops both their heads. Steve can’t look away from his mouth. “Sunny. Better than this shithole.”

Steve nods. Let’s Billy put the joint right to his lips, almost finished now, and takes a long drag as well. Feels the sweet smoke fill his lungs and leans even closer when he breathes it out, just as slow as Billy did. They’re so close now, clasped hands and arms pressed together. Steve wants to ask Billy a thousand questions, all of a sudden. Where did he grow up? Can he surf? Does he miss his mom? Why did he come back? Will he leave Hawkins once and for all when he’s finished with school?

He stays quiet, instead. Feels dizzy and hot under the collar all of a sudden as Billy breathes in the smoke Steve’s exhaling. Not quite shotgunning, but close. So close.

They break apart when the sound of the sliding doors opening interrupts their silence with a wave of noise from inside spilling out. “Hargrove, we’re getting pancakes!” someone yells in their direction. “You coming with?”

And that’s how Steve ends up at the only 24/7 diner in Hawkins at 2AM, hand still clasped with Billy’s as the group they’re with enthusiastically orders a veritable feast. Even if eating with his left hand sucks, he’s so starved by the time they sit down that he just orders a mountain of scrambled eggs and hash browns. Dumps a bunch of creamer and sugar into the shitty coffee, because otherwise it’s intolerable.

He ignores Billy stealing from his eggs. Ignores the two hash browns Billy snatches from him. Grudgingly eats the two pancakes and the strips of bacon that Billy wordlessly deposits on his plate, probably having noticed Steve’s unsubtle pouting. Steve’s a bit too high and drunk and sleepy with a full belly to do much more than lean against the backrest of the diner booth. Still holding on to Billy’s hand, while the chatter of a bunch of people who are too drunk to care anymore why he’s here with them washes over him. 

There’s something about brightly illuminated spaces after midnight that make him extra sleepy. Make him want to curl up right there in the booth, uncaring of the noise or company and just drop off where he feels safe from monsters with flower petal shaped mouths for heads and men with Russian accents and hard fists and shiny needles. There’s a warm surface under his cheek, the smell of well-used leather and a hint of woodsy, warm perfume in his nose. 

Someone laughs and ruffles his hair, makes him wake up. “It’s almost 3AM, princess,” Billy grins in his face. “I’m pretty sure if I drive you home, I’ve won my bet.” Cody, sitting in the booth in front of them, groans in exasperation as Steve slowly comes back to sleepy awareness. “You’re so stubborn, Hargrove. Fine, consider your bet won, if you drive Harrington home.”

Billy tugs at Steve’s hand, clearly wanting to leave. With a jaw-cracking yawn, Steve pulls his wallet from his back pocket, slaps down a bill that’ll hopefully cover his food and a tip and lets Billy drag him outside. He’d really like to go back to sleep again. Preferably somewhere bright and warm. “You make a good pillow,” he tells Billy earnestly. Gets a soft snort in response. They end up in front of Billy’s car, still hand in hand. For a moment it seems like Billy doesn’t want to let go. Steve certainly doesn’t.

But then Billy’s hand is gone from his. Cold air cools the sweat on his palm and he shivers once again in the dark, cold night while he waits for Billy to unlock the car. Gets into the quiet dark of the Camaro and tries not to look at Billy. Fails miserably, because how can he not look? He’s tried so hard not to look for a long time. Surely, surely he’s allowed to look just for this drive, even if he isn’t allowed to touch.

The silence between them on the way to Steve’s once again empty home feels charged. Not like they’re gonna end up in a fight, not the way it felt a year ago. Billy is loose and confident next to Steve, pays attention to the road and throws these quick glances at him. Licks his lips, like he’s gearing up for something he wants to say.

It’s only when they park in front of Steve’s home that Billy fully turns towards him. Reaches out, so slowly that Steve could easily get out and slam the door shut by the time Billy’s hand once again reaches his. Warm. Calloused. A spark of light reflected on one of his rings.

Steve doesn’t leave. He stays seated, right where he can lean in and let his fingers intertwine with Billy’s, until they’re so close that their lips tentatively brush. Until their eyes close and they meet in a careful, slow kiss that makes Steve sigh and Billy chuckle against his lips.


End file.
